The Things I Do
by Deona Lindholm
Summary: The story of Custom KITT...from the perspective from another person who was there. R&R Please!


_The Things I Do…_

It was a drive, plain and simple.

An old friend from my past, Henry Smythe, had come to the Foundation on a personal visit…and when he went to go visit some old friends from the OSS that lived in California, he had left the Pennington Ascot Regency, beautifully restored.

He would be back in a little under a week, and already a couple of days had passed. Before I went to sleep on the second day, I had made the decision that I would go on a morning drive with the Pennington. Michael had used a more crude term for it: joyriding.

A simple drive, that was all. What could possibly go wrong?

I got dressed that morning, wearing a blazer that I only wore on special occasions, and, well…this counted as one of them. After all, it wasn't everyday that one went driving a car as classic as the Pennington, even Bonnie and Michael agreed to that.

So, that was how I found myself on the morning ride on a nearly deserted road, driving down the highway in Commander Smythe's car, simply enjoying myself, with the wind whipping in my face. Life could rarely ever get better than this.

That was rudely interrupted by a very harsh jolt, coming from behind.

I looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the car behind me had accelerated enough to hit the rear bumper of the Pennington.

I quickly pulled onto the side of the road, and so did the other vehicle. As soon as I got out, I hurried to the back of the Pennington, hoping that there wasn't much, if any damage.

After all, this wasn't even my own car!

I peered at the bumper and immediately felt rather angry…for there _was_ damage on the bumper…it had been dented in at least seven places.

_Oh Lord…he is going to be furious._

There was a gasp behind me and the other driver, a woman, said, "Ohhh…Uh-oh."

_Uh-oh? She wrecks the car and says uh-oh?_

I turned on her and asked, "Is that all you can say, madam?" in as controlled a voice as I could, considering the circumstances.  
In other circumstances, she might be considered pretty, with blonde hair and a blue outfit…and wearing dark sunglasses.

"Oh, you're goin' ta be mad. Oh, don' be mad," she said, turning in a circle, landing on the hood of her own car, "It's such a beautiful day."

Bonnie would have called her an airhead. Michael would have used a more primitive term: ditzy. Both would be right on the target.

"Nevertheless, the car you so carelessly struck just happens to be one of the few remaining Pennington Ascot Regencies in the world, " I told her and then emphasized darkly, _"and it is not mine!"_

She groaned and said, "Oh, Bobby Jo's just gonna kill me."

"I need identification. I also need your insurance," I continued, then thought of something, "You _are_ insured, aren't you?"

She got up, gasping as if she remembered something and managed to latch herself onto my tie as she said, "Bobby Jo is. This is his car."

I managed to get myself loose when she asked, "My purse, it's in the front seat. Would you, oh please…? I don' feel so good." She then made a very distinct hiccup.

_Another drunk driver,_ I thought as I sighed, _People really have no sense sometimes…especially when it comes to driving! I can only hope I get this fixed before Henry returns!_ I went towards her car and started looking in the front seat, where she said the purse would be.

As I looked some more, I was about to ask if she was sure as to the location when I heard first an engine…then the sound of a car driving away. I glanced up and found the source of the noise.

The woman was in the driver's seat of the Pennington…and driving off with it!

As I hurried after her, she honked twice, waved and drove off quickly…quicker than I knew I could keep up with.

There was only one thing I could think, much less say.

"Oh, my God!"

After then, the logical side of the brain kicked in and I set about the task of getting back to the Foundation headquarters. I checked the car that the woman had left and decided to try to start it up. After all, if it didn't work, I would have to find another way of getting back, possibly…ugh…hitchhiking.

Thank the Lord, the car started right up.

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When I finally got back to the Foundation, April was about to greet me normally…until she saw my appearance and expression.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked bluntly.

"It's a long story, April," I replied, "And it can wait." I then turned and looked about the room, seeing a couple of security guards. "Have the car outside examined for anything. Fingerprints, personal belongings…the works, as Michael would say."

"All right…but what happened to the Pennington?" she asked.

I didn't answer the question until I was back in my office and was punching in the sequence to call Michael on the com-phone.

The monitor in front of me came to life and within moments, I saw Michael, driving in Kitt.

"_Hello, Devon! Thought you were out joyriding in the Pennington,"_ he greeted.

Here came the admission I hated the most right then.

"The Pennington's been stolen, Michael."

I saw April's jaw drop and heard Michael ask, shocked, _"What?"_

"I'll explain the details later. The point is," I explained, "Commander Smythe will be returning first thing Monday morning. Today's Friday, in case you've forgotten. If the Commander returns and I don't have the Pennington here waiting for him—"

"_Say no more, Devon, we'll meet you at the semi,"_ he replied and signed off.

"Just how did you get that car stolen?" April asked.

_The things I do to enjoy a drive in a classic car…_

"I'll tell you on the way to meet Michael."

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And tell her I did. As I explained, she tried not to laugh, although at times she managed to look seriously concerned about this whole hullabaloo. Perhaps if I were not as proper as I am and if it were to happen to someone else, I might have seen the humor in it. As it was, it made the situation more troubling and embarrassing. We also set about looking for incidents similar to this and any common threads.

When Michael finally arrived, I retold the story to him. He was trying not to laugh at times, but for the most part, he was rather concerned.

"Devon, you're sure this was planned?" he asked me.

"Yes, it was a professional job. I was I had been rude and told her to fetch her own purse."

"A gentleman to the very end," April cooed with a smile. It certainly didn't make me feel any better.

Michael cut in and asked, "Okay, what've you got?"

She punched in some graphics as she said, "There's been a rash of custom and classic car thefts. The 'bump-and-run' seems to be the latest technique."

To that, he said, looking directly at me, "If that's all we've got to go on…somebody's in a lot of trouble."

"Must you be so negative?" I snapped, "And that's not all we have to go on. April?"

"We think we've come up with a common denominator. In every town where there's been a theft, there's also been a custom car show not far away."

Michael nodded, "Makes a lot of sense. The show attracts the cars. Cars attract potential buyers."

I took out a flyer I had found inside the thief's car and handed it to Michael as I told him, "Which is why you're going to Barton Springs. If they're going to sell the Pennington, this would be the place to do it."

As the phone rang, April went to answer it and Michael nodded as he put the flyer into a pocket.

A moment later, she said as she returned, face grim, "Devon…? It's for you…Commander Smythe."

_Oh Lord, no…what else could possibly go wrong?_ I thought as I waved at Michael while turning to the phone.

I could hear him closing Kitt's door and taking off.

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"_Is something wrong, Devon?"_

"Oh. No…just a hard morning. How are you doing?"

"_Not as good as expected. Found out some from the old OSS unit that live around here have either moved or died. Mostly moved, though."_

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that."

"_Yes, quite. I'm making a change of plans. I'll be back at the Foundation a couple of days early, day after tomorrow."_

I blanched at this and managed to say in a mostly steady tone, "Day after tomorrow…? Henry, that's rather sudden."

"_Not more so than before. Devon…is something really wrong? How is the old girl?"_

"Ah, the Pennington. Doing well." _The 'old girl' had better be all right, considering what has happened._

"_You're sure…? You remember what happened when you got caught in some falsehood? The only time you ever lied to me?"_

The last thing I needed was for Henry to be bringing back memories of that time. To say the least, when he had found out that I had lied, over a trivial matter, I had not fared too well afterwards.

"All too well," I honestly replied, "I haven't told a lie since…when it wasn't in the line of duty, that is."

"_Good," _he replied and hung up.

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That night, I was about to go to bed when I received a signal on the com-phone.

"_Devon, come in,"_ the familiar voice of Kitt called.

"Yes, Kitt?"

"_I've been taking pictures of any woman that passed by at an evening reception, on Michael's orders. With any luck, you might be able to identify the car thief as being one of them."_

"I might at that. I'm setting up the transmission…now," I replied. A moment later, the transmission from Kitt to my computer began…and from the look at the amount of pictures, I would not be asleep any time soon.

I sighed and got started examining the photographs.

A few hours later, I had finished examining the last photo and sighed in frustration.

"None," I muttered, "None of these women is the person I'm looking for…"

The car thief was nowhere to be seen…

It looked like the blonde woman had been wearing a wig, a very expensive wig made out of Elura…

Henry Smythe was going to be back day after tomorrow…

And the Pennington was stolen.

"Oh Lord," I moaned quietly, "Just what else can go wrong…? Michael, you had better find that car soon."

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The next morning, I contacted Michael on the com-phone.

"Well, I've studied all the photos Kitt's transmitted," I said to him.

"_You come up with anything?"_ he asked.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," I replied, "I'm beginning to wonder if I'd recognize her if I bumped into each other in the supermarket."

The dear boy looked surprised and his tone showed it as he said, _"Devon…you don't go to supermarkets."_

"Yes, quite right, but you take my point, don't you?" I asked as I closed the suitcase that was in front of me, then sat down behind my desk.

Along with that bit, there had been some news: The car of a car show contestant, a girl named Carrie Haver, had been stolen that morning. I had heard of Edward Haver, Eddie as most called him. He had been a professional car competitor before he had died. It was surprising that the very same car of his had now belonged to his daughter. I had to admit, it was admirable of her to not sell it.

I then told Michael about the single strand of hair that had been found in the car that was left behind, and about it being made out of Elura.

"_What about the background on our people?"_

"Nothing. With the exception of one Suzanne Weston. She has an arrest record."

He looked a bit surprised as he said, _"An arrest record…? Don't tell me…"_

"Quite right, Michael. Two counts of grand theft auto…no convictions."

"_Interesting lady. I wonder if she has an affinity for wigs. Good work, Devon,"_ he said and was about to sign off. As much as I hated to mention it to him, I had to, and fast.

"Not good enough, I'm afraid. Commander Smythe's had a change of plans. He's expected here tomorrow." It stung me to say the next part, but it was true… "Now, Michael. I am a mature man. I handle human frailties fairly well, even my own." I didn't like other people knowing that I had such frailties…an old habit from the war. "But I have no intention of facing the Commander car-less."

"_I hear ya,"_ he replied grimly and signed off.

000000000000000

For the rest of that day, I had kept in contact with Michael and Kitt. At first, it seemed like they had a lead, but it actually turned out to be a dead end, involving Suzanne Weston. I had not said it to Michael, but I rather fancied the lady myself…except for the arrest record.

That night, I was going through a folder that contained a case that I would assign to Michael once this mess with the Pennington was over…and a short time later, I was reading a comforting book when I decided to make a call to him. April had left in the semi a short time ago.

"_Yo, Devon,"_ he called out as normal as the vid screen came into focus…and showed Michael holding a set of four-barrel exhaust pipes.

"Michael. Have you made any progress?" I asked, hoping that he had found it by now.

"_Well, that depends on what you define progress."_

"I define it as recovering the Pennington," I replied, annoyed that I had to be so blunt.

"_In that case…no. But I've decided to take a new approach, changed tactics."_

That explained the exhaust pipes.

"Well, while you're changing tactics, I'm running out of time,_" _I reminded, "Commander Smythe is due back here in less than 24 hours."

Michael replied, _"Maybe you can stall him."_

He certainly doesn't know Henry Smythe, and it showed by that statement.

"My dear boy, one doesn't stall the Commander, one tries to survive him."

I then studied the book further until I heard footsteps stop behind me…and click in military fashion. A second later, I heard the one voice that could, and did, make my heart sink.

"Lieutenant Miles, attention!"

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…,_ I kept thinking, and I squeezed eyes shut and I'm quite sure I was cringing…and a double cringe at that. Henry Smythe had just arrived. Faintly, I heard the com-phone sign off.

"You still have the habit of surprising me," I managed to say in a mostly steady voice.

"And you've gotten a bit soft on me," he retorted, then laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "Busy as always, I see."

"But of course. Being the Executive Director of this organization is not a trivial task."

"Ahh, too true."

The next day, in between phone calls, I chatted with Henry about old times, as well as how I had been doing ever since the end of the war…and when I had left the OSS. When I looked out the window, it was already night. All this time he had not even brought up his car, not even once.

"Now, old boy, where is she?" he suddenly asked.

"She…?"

"The Pennington, of course! What else could I mean?"

There was only one thing to do. I would have to, indeed, stall the Commander. If it worked, it would buy Michael, and I, time. If it backfired, I didn't want to know just how disastrous the repercussions would be.

And to do that, I had to do the one thing I had done in the past…lie to my old Commander and friend.

_The things I do to keep an old Commander from knowing what happened…_

"Well, I…she's not here at the moment. She's…at a classic car show."

I could tell already that he was apoplectic as he asked very quietly, "You did _what_ with the Pennington!"

When there was serious trouble, Henry didn't yell…for that was a man that didn't bother with abusing his vocal cords when trouble was afoot. No, when he went quiet…that was when you were to start worrying.

I gulped slightly and replied carefully, "I, ah…I had her entered in a car show."

"You put the Pennington Ascot Regency on display…? Before _commoners_?"

Right then, I didn't know which would be worse…the truth or the story I had just told.

_You and your suggestions, Michael…_

"Well, Henry, I, uh…I felt that such beauty should be shared with the rest of the world. Such majesty should brighten the colorless lives of the poor, the deprived…"

Right then, I hesitated, as I was running out of pitches. If Henry caught me in the lie now…

"Yes, well…I suppose I could see your point."

He actually believed it!

"You can? Oh, that's wonderful! Such good news for the masses…" In truth I was very relieved. That didn't last long at all.

"Take me to the car show at once."

_Oh, no._

"Take you? Henry, it's in Barton Springs. It's a fair drive and already very late. What say we relax for the evening and drive up tomorrow for the judging? A fresh start first thing in the morning."

He peered at me, right into the eyes, then asked, "There's nothing _wrong_, is there?"

I took a mental breath as I replied, "Wrong? Certainly not. What on earth could possibly be wrong…?"

What on earth, indeed.

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The next morning, Henry and I left for Barton Springs in my Mercedes…with him riding shotgun, so to speak.

"Ah, there's nothing quite like getting an early start to awaken the senses. The crisp, clear scent of the dawn," he said and chuckled before asking, "Makes you yearn for the war years, eh Devon? Leading a bristled gaggle of men into battle. The clash of steel against steel, by george!"

As he laughed again, I faintly replied, "Steel against steel. Yes, quite." I was already very nervous about this entire situation and was praying that Michael would get the car back soon. As it was, I was already neck-deep into it, as he would put it. "Still, we have plenty of time for breakfast…a leisurely breakfast."

He replied, "Well, I've waited this long to drive the old girl, I suppose I could wait a _little_ longer."

"Good," I replied very faintly.

"You don't suppose they could find any kippers, do you?"

"I doubt it," I replied honestly, "After all, this is not Britain."

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Although I proved to be correct on not being able to find kippers, we did manage to find a restaurant with a menu that would be more to Henry's liking, as well as my own. While eating and having some coffee, he asked me what kind of cars would be at the classic car show in Barton Springs, which I was able to answer honestly, since I had some idea of what would be on display. After all, I had been to one or two shows in the same city that Michael had a case.

"And this is where the Pennington is being displayed?" he asked.

"Well, yes," I answered.

"Hmph. At least it isn't as bad as I thought at first."

I nodded quietly. Although that was the only time that the Pennington was mentioned, I was becoming increasingly nervous and tried my best to keep that fact hidden. After all, if Henry were to notice, he would become suspicious…and inquisitive.

When I looked at the clock, it said that it was 10:00.

"Well, time to get underway," I managed to say cheerfully, and he agreed.

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Once we arrived at the car show, I looked about, wanting to know just how many cars were there. The more present, the better the chances of stalling longer.

I had to admit, there was a fair selection, and all of them better than I had thought.

"My goodness," I could hear Henry remark, "Some of these are quite the beauties."

I had to honestly agree.

"I'd love to see how the old girl compares to them."

"Well," I put in quickly, "Let's go see, shall we…? I believe I see one of them now…a customized Packard."

As we went through the entire show of cars the second time, checking out even the smallest detail, a new car arrived…a black Trans-Am, decked out in red and yellow flames, including with the exhaust plate I had seen earlier.

_Kitt? Good Lord, I know he wasn't too happy to be changed around. I remember how he was when Michael put silver stars all over him._

"_Devon, Michael said to tell you it won't be long now. The thief, or rather, thieves have been discovered: Buck and Nora Rayburn,"_ he said quietly enough that I could hear and Henry couldn't.

That surprised me. I had heard about those two and their Longhorn, which seemed to me as nothing more than a glorified stretch limousine with a hot tub in the back. I had even seen the picture of Nora Rayburn and had not recognized her.

"Good," I managed to say and walked over to Henry, who was looking around in an irritated manner.

"Devon, I've seen this car twice, now. Where is my Pennington?"

I gulped as I said, "Have I shown you the customized Packard?"

"Yes," he snapped, becoming angry, "I insist you take me to the Pennington immediately!"

As much as I hated to say it, I had run out of tactics…and out of time.

The Pennington was nowhere in sight.

I took a mental breath and was about to tell him the truth when I heard a very familiar horn.

Michael was pulling up…with the Pennington!

"And so I shall," I replied with a smile and led my old friend to the vehicle.

_Not a moment too soon, Michael._

"Hello," I said, feeling every bit as happy as I sounded.

"Just wanted to polish her up a little," he said, gesturing to the car.

"She is a sight, I must say. You're quite right, Devon. Her beauty should be enjoyed by the masses," Commander Smythe said.

Michael looked at me oddly, and I gave him a look that said I would explain later…much later.

As I walked around to the back, I heard some rather relieving news: Carrie Haver's car had won the car show. At the same time, I looked down and saw one little problem.

The scratches and dents were still on the bumper.

As Michael walked away, I said, 'Good work, Michael," with a smile that was now forced.

"Thanks, Devon," he answered and clapped me on the shoulder, then froze, looked at me strangely, then asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'll be all right as long as I never move from this spot," I replied grimly and moved a leg to show him the bumper.

His eyes widened a little as he said, "Oh. I see. Well, I'm sure you'll think of something, and I'll see you at the semi."

Before I could even think of stopping him, he walked off…rather quickly.

_That Michael…! The things I do…_

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After the crowd had looked, with curiosity at the Pennington, we were about to head back to the Foundation. I was still trying to "think of something" when I heard someone come up from behind me.

"Devon?" I could hear Henry ask, tone slightly quiet but mostly conversational.

"Yes?"

That was when his voice became fully quiet as he asked, "Would you happen to know how seven dents in a row got onto the old girl's rear bumper…?

I looked right at him…and saw that he was at an angle that I had not thought about…an angle that was unobstructed.

_Oh, Lord,_ I thought, _Now what am I going to do…?_

THE END


End file.
